


You'll Catch Me

by letthesongtakeflight



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Natasha, Clint's an idiot sometimes, Established Relationship, F/M, Minor Character Death, Protective Tony, on screen death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 18:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2439152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letthesongtakeflight/pseuds/letthesongtakeflight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a bullet-proof plan goes wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You'll Catch Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InnerCinema](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerCinema/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Easy as A-B-C](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2056827) by [InnerCinema](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerCinema/pseuds/InnerCinema). 



Natasha's fingers rattle on the keyboard as she types in a computer code. It takes a few seconds and she's in the system. She quickly scans the list on items on the screen. Opens the file she needed. Scans it to make sure it's the right one. Copies the file onto the thumbdrive. The file's bigger than they had anticipated, and the computer older. The download bar fills up at a snail's pace.

 

"Natasha, status update," Steve's voice says from her com piece.

 

"It's gonna take more than three minutes," she says. "File's too big."

 

There's a moment of silence. "I fired the arrow," Clint says, and a chill runs down Natasha's spine. "The ship's gonna blow in about four minutes."

 

"What the hell, Barton?" Tony, his voice a tight growl. Natasha knows that he's hiding his panic with anger.

 

"Nat, get out of the ship when it blows," Steve commands.

 

"Okay, I'll have the files by then," she promises and hopes that she can keep it.

 

Fifteen percent downloaded, three minutes to go.

 

"Come on," she mutters, glancing up at the doorway behind her where enemy troops will swarm in in any minute now. She looks out of the window of the airborne warship. She spies the red-and-gold flash of Tony's armour as he dodges the explosives. He's trying to get close enough to catch her. He has to be ready in three minutes. Or she would fall 700 feet to her death.

 

The door slams open, a group of men rushed in, wearing bullet-proof vests over uniforms and armed with various firearms. One of them throws a grenade and Natasha kicks it away before it explodes on the far side of the room. But a piece of shrapnel is propelled in her direction and it flicks off her skull. She ducks behind the desk, a hand pressed against the throbbing spot on her head. It feels wet; she's bleeding but as far as she can tell it's a minor wound. She hears bullets hit the desk and the wood chips, but it's thick enough to withstand the assault, at least for a while. She glances up at the screen. Forty seven percent, ninety seconds.

 

She takes the guns from her belt, load both of them. One in each hand, she shoots at her attackers. A few of them fall. She hides back behind the desk to reload. Comes out again to shoot. The men shoot at her, a bullet grazes her arm and she retreats back behind her shield.

 

Thirty one percent, forty five seconds.

 

She can't risk getting shot, but she can't sit here and wait for them to kill her either. She hears footsteps, they're moving towards the desk. She whips around and fires her gun in his face. He howls with pain and stumbles away. She spins around and kicks the soldier on her other side in the stomach. He doubles over, and she quickly deals two punches to his side. She kicks high, at the back of his skull, and he falls, unconscious.

 

Only half the men remain now. She takes a grenade from the fallen soldier, pulls the pin out, and chucks it at the regathering troops. They scatter a millisecond before the explosion. Two of them are two late and are caught in the blast; a couple of them are injured, temporarily out of action.

 

Seventeen percent, ten seconds.

 

"Natasha, get out of there, it's an order," Steve says through the intercom.

 

The last of the soldiers come at her. She vaults onto the desk, she lands and springs onto the soldier. She tasers him with her Widow's Bite and he drops.

 

"I can get the files," she insists.

 

Eleven percent, six seconds.

 

"Screw the files," Tony snaps. "Just get the hell out of there." Despite his rough tone, Natasha can hear the pleading undertone in her lover's voice and it makes her hesitate. She wants to jump out the window now, and he would catch her, as they had planned, as she had reassured him that she trusted him to do so. 

 

Nine percent, five seconds.

 

"Nat, I don't see you." Clint.

 

Seven percent, four seconds.

 

"Natasha!"

 

Five, three.

 

She hears the roar Clint's explosion, and the alarms all over the ship blare and flash.

 

Three, two.

 

"Get ready to catch me, Tony."

 

One, one.

 

The flames of the explosion race down the long hallway, towards the door and towards her. 

 

_Zero._

 

She yanks the thumbdrive out and races to the opposite window. The heat of the flames lick her back. She doesn't bother looking before she jumps out of the window, glass shattering and raining down around her. When she looks back up behind her the fire is at the window, reaching towards her with burning fingers and she's escaped.

 

Only to freefall through the air. "Tony!" she shouts, hoping that her com piece is still working. The concrete is several hundred feet below her and rushing closer by the second.

 

"Tash, I'm coming," he says.

 

She looks to see him a hundred feet above her, flying down with the thrusters on full. "Hurry!" She spreads herself out, maximizing area for air resistance to slow down her fall. But her catsuit is designed to to streamline her form. She braces herself, getting ready to turn. Feet first; broken legs are better than a broken skull.

 

"Gotcha!" Metal arms come around her and she's suspended in midair for a moment before she rises. Iron Man's metal breastplate is hard against her back, his arms around her waist. Her body slackens; it knows that it's safe. Tony turns her around so that she can put her arms around his neck, and he shifts his hold to one hand behind her back and one under her legs, like a bride.

 

He lifts the face plate, and the tender look in his eyes is impassioned by the protective, almost desperate look that shone out of them. She can feel his gaze over her face, making note of the cuts and the blood that still trickles from the wound in her head. She can see that he's silently promising himself that he will never let go of her, not when he came so close to losing her. 

 

She runs a hand gently across his cheek, cupping it as best as she can when his head is still encased by the helmet. "Told you you'd catch me."

 

"Never, _ever_  cut it that close again," he growled. 

 

"Why not?"

 

"I might not always be there to catch you."

 

She leans in close and kisses his cheek. "I trust you."

 

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot is inspired by a chapter in the Ironwidow fic "Easy as A-B-C", by the super awesome InnerCinema. She's inspired me so much, not just with this fic but also with a lot of my other Marvel writing. Which is why I'm dedicating this to her, may we have fun working together <3


End file.
